


Hands

by mific



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Fanfiction, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-21
Updated: 2010-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:02:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John had always liked watching Rodney's hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a McSheplet's challenge (prompt: "Handy")

 

John had always liked watching Rodney's hands. Big, competent hands, quick-fingered. Flickering across keyboards, ripping the foil off a Power Bar, wrist-deep in a piece of Ancient junk. But Rodney never touched him, or hardly ever.

John touched Rodney all the time as they danced around each other, closer than friends but _so_ not talking about it. No way. Grabbing Rodney’s shoulder, cuffing the back of his head, elbowing him in the ribs when he wanted a french-fry-like object off Rodney’s plate in the dining room.

Looking back, it was pretty much the same shit John had done with the kids he’d liked in grade school – hitting or tripping them then running off, heart pounding. It hadn’t worked all that well back then, either, but John didn’t have much of a repertoire when it came to relationships. He could do slacker charm and casual cheeriness, but when he cared about someone, the words deserted him.

In the end, words didn’t come into it. He’d been released from the infirmary after yet another near-death experience, and really, how much longer could he kid himself that he wasn’t somehow asking for it? Risk-taking, flinging himself out into dangerous situations so that…so that. Yeah. He stood in the shower, exhausted, eyes shut, letting the hot water spill over him. What was he trying to prove, anyway? Who was he trying to impress?

Best not to go there. He’d finished towelling off and was pulling on his boxers and a t-shirt when the knock came. Crap, couldn’t they leave him alone for just one day?

It was Rodney, biting his lip uncertainly in the doorway until John stepped aside. The door swooshed shut behind him and they were left standing, awkward. John was about to make some crack about Rodney’s t-shirt (a seriously bad ass-joke about fractals) when Rodney stepped forward and put his big hand flat on John’s chest, more or less where the Wraith scar was.

John looked down at it, then back at Rodney’s face which was all twisted up with a mixture of desperation and anger and need. Fuck. He felt his heart pounding under Rodney’s hand, heard his breathing speed up and get shallower.

He almost started to speak, then Rodney’s other hand came up, pressing a finger to his lips, silencing him. His eyes widened. Rodney’s eyes were huge, the slate blue a thin rim around his dilated pupils. Rodney’s hand slid around from his chest to his back, holding him steady as though he might startle and bolt away. The finger on his mouth brushed across his top lip, then slid across his lower lip and pressed in. John’s mouth opened helplessly, and he took Rodney’s finger and sucked it, breathing raggedly through his nose. His cock twitched in his shorts, stiffening.

Rodney groaned softly as John sucked on his finger, then he pulled his hand out of John’s warm, wet mouth and grabbed the back of his neck firmly, pulling them close and kissing John urgently, deep and hot and with plenty of tongue, one hand falling to the small of John’s back, pulling their hips together.

Hard, he was so fucking hard, and Rodney was too. Rodney thrust a hand down the front of his boxers, then that big, warm hand was wrapped around his cock, Rodney’s other hand gripping the back of John’s neck possessively. John put his arms around Rodney, dropped his head onto Rodney’s shoulder and pumped his hips into Rodney’s curving fingers, gasping into the soft skin behind Rodney’s ear as he came.

When Rodney drew him down to the bed and stripped off his clothes, he almost made some dumb remark about Rodney being a handy man, being good with his hands. But then those same hands were pushing his head down and he was pulling off Rodney’s pants and his mouth was too full of Rodney’s heavy, trembling cock to say anything at all.

Afterwards, Rodney’s hands were on his back and in his hair, holding him close. John nestled in. Maybe he wouldn’t need to fling himself about quite so much, wordlessly begging for someone to rein him in, keep him safe.

He was in Rodney’s hands now.

 


End file.
